There’s a storm warning. There’s a hurricane coming. It’s
really not a big deal though, so get out from under the table, and put
away Granddad’s old WW1 gas mask. It’s gonna be a really ickle storm,
probably localised to the nearest tea-cup. Actually, if you cough
a bit loud, you might even miss it completely. If you do catch it however,
prepare to have your soul ripped forcibly from your chest. It might
be quiet, but it’s as malevolent as it is calculating. And if you
listen really close, you might hear a faint snigger.

Prepare yourself for instant melody. Prepare for acoustic guitars
that summon more power than At The Drive-In existing in hyper-reality.
Prepare for understatement trampling the overstated with sardonic symmetry
and dry wit. There’s a certain malevolent evil manifest in Kloot’s
songs that bubbles just below the beauty. ‘There’s blood on your
legs - I love you’ croons little Manc upstart Johnny Bramwell on set opener
‘Twist’, a lilting stop-start beauty of a song that dies a death at the
end of each line in equal parts romance and irony. The brooding acoustic
guitar, accompanied by wash cymbals and hypnotic bass, provides the perfect
foil for Johnny’s reverb-tastic acousto-vocals, and its clear that these
songs have a pop element that is entrenched in the bitter-sweet.
This band is essential.

Or, they would be if anyone were here to see all this. Its not
quite one man and his dog scenario but its not far off, with the guest-list
comprising at least half the audience, and eclectic Aussie-fronted Manc
band support, Indigo Jones, also helping to swell the numbers beyond their
true nature. However, if I Am Kloot do go arse up, Johnny could forge
a career in stand-up comedy, his sand-paper dry musings providing the perfect
accompaniment to his similarly emotive songs. They’re creeping up
behind us, dead slowly, but its unlikely that they would have it any other
way. In their own words, “we can change people’s lives at three decibels.”
They’re certainly not wrong.